


The Queen and her Huntsman

by curiouslycurious



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3454088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslycurious/pseuds/curiouslycurious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. The first section is the end of the ep. Evil Queen/Regina character study in regards to Graham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You're not going anywhere.” The Queen waved a hand, and the doors slammed shut behind Graham. He could hear the inevitability of his fate in the sound of their closing, and he held his breath.

 

“She doesn't deserve to die,” he hears himself say, but his voice sounds distant with his heart pounding in his ears. Graham backs away as the Queen advances.

 

“That's _not_ up to you.” He can feel the heat of her anger radiating off of her in waves the closer she gets, and Graham is sure that he is about to die. His back hits the doors behind him. He feels trapped, a hot rise of panic blossoming in his chest as she closes the last few inches into his space. “I wanted a heart,” she growls, “and a heart I shall have.”

 

Before he has time to sort through the horror behind her words, the Queen's hand is thrust into his chest, and he feels lithe fingers close around his heart before it's suddenly ripped from his chest and being held in her hand in front of his face.

 

The red glow is sickening. Somehow, this is worse than death, he thinks.

 

“Wh-What're you going to do to me?” He's panting, gulping for air, thinking he should be dead, but the Queen is simply standing in front of him studying the heart in her hand.

 

To his surprise, the Queen reaches out with her free hand and clutches his face, closing the last few feet to him before she presses her lips forcefully to his. Despite himself, he feels himself kissing her back though his eyes are wide in shock. Just as quickly as it started, she's pulling back, still clutching his face in her hand. Her lips are mere inches from his, and he can feel her breath on his face.

 

“You're now mine. My _pet_.”

 

Graham feels the walls close in around him as she pushes off of him and stomps over to the far wall. She holds up his heart, a box slides forward out of the wall, and she flicks the lid off.

 

She turns to him, her skirt flying behind her. “And this is your cage. From this moment forward, you will do everything that I say. And if you _ever_ disobey me?” She pauses for morbid effect, letting his fate sink in before she continues. “If you ever try to run away? All I have to do...is squeeze.”

 

The next thing he knows, he's on his knees in the middle of the Queen's vault gripping his chest. He feels as if his entire chest is going to explode outward from the pressure, and he can't form words to protest, only manages to grunt and growl ineffectually in her direction. He manages to look up, manages to catch a glimpse of her hand squeezing the glowing heart, before the pressure is released, and he can breathe again.

 

“Guards!” Graham hears the doors fly inward and feels two sets of hands on his arms pulling him to stand in front of the Queen. His legs feel like jelly, though, so he's being held up more than standing on his own. “Your life is now in my hands. Forever.” His eyes widen at the finality of her words. “Take him to my bedchamber,” the Queen purrs, the amusement in her voice clear.

 

Graham is dragged from her vault, the sound of the lid slamming closed over his heart echoing back to him.

 

Worse than death, he thinks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Graham thinks back to a time before evil queens and castles and society in general as he's being dragged down a long hallway, and he yearns for the simplicity of his young life spent in the woods with no one but the wolves to keep him company. As he grew older, he became curious of the humans he only ever saw from a distance and had started venturing into more populated areas.

 

Why he had ever left the woods, he doesn't know anymore.

 

He lands heavily on his left arm in the middle of a large room. The guards snicker at his back as they leave, closing the doors behind them, and he resists the urge to snarl at them. Instead, he stands and walks over to the large balcony at the far side of the room. The view of the forest in the distance clenches at a space in his chest where his heart used to be, and he grimaces. He takes deep breaths. The cool air burns into his lungs, and he can feel the anger leaving him with each pull, leaving him with an empty feeling in his gut instead.

 

He stands at the railing for hours it seems, the sun having set behind the trees long ago, breathing deep, longing for the woods, and waiting for the Queen to return to her chambers. He shudders at the thought of being bound to the woman for the rest of his life.

 

Graham pushes off of the balcony when long shadows start spilling over the stone floor, and he turns around to regard the room around him. He walks over and runs his fingers over a simple vanity, a small mirror and a jewelry box the only items on its surface. He flips the lid of the jewelry box. A small ring of silver is the only piece that sits in the center of the too-large box. He reaches out a finger to touch it but pulls his hand back at the last second and closes the lid. The intrusion felt too severe. He might hate the Queen, but even he has limits.

 

He starts at the sound of the door closing behind him, and he moves quickly to the center of the room. He resists the urge to lower into a defensive crouch at the sight of the Queen, knowing the move to be futile.

 

She takes a step forward, and he takes a step back to keep the distance between them constant.

 

A look he can't quite read flashes across the Queen's face, and he furrows his brow in confusion.

 

Was it regret? Never, he thinks to himself. She has no heart.

 

“What're you going to do to me?” He repeats his question from hours previous, but this time his voice doesn't break, and despite everything, he's proud of that fact.

 

She doesn't answer but slowly walks toward him, Graham retreating until his back hits a wall, and she's inches away from him for a second time in the same day. His breathing is ragged as she reaches up and touches her fingers to his lips. He jerks his head away, her touch feeling too much like fire, and her fingers linger in the air for a second before she catches his gaze and then turns and walks over to stand beside her bed. He watches as she waves a hand and a section of the wall turns inward to reveal a room beyond.

 

“Get some sleep, huntsman.” Her voice is quiet, almost resigned.

 

Graham doesn't move. “What?” he asks, his voice suddenly less sure. “You're not going to-”

 

“To what?” she asks, interrupting him. Her voice is calm. She looks tired.

 

Graham doesn't respond, but his eyes flicker to the large bed to her left despite himself. She catches the look, and he sees her hands ball into fists at her side. And then suddenly, she's in front of him again, though not near as close as before.

 

“What is your name, huntsman?” she demands, forcing the words through clenched teeth. A vein in the center of her forehead has started to throb.

 

The question was not what he was expecting. Graham's eyes flicker around the room, everywhere but her eyes, and he can't decided whether or not he should lie to her or simply not answer at all. In the end, he hears himself answer, but he can't remember actually making the decision to do so.

 

“Graham,” he says quietly. “Yours?” he asks before he can stop himself.

 

Her lips quirk upwards, almost a smile.

 

“Graham, do you wish to share a bed with me?” She takes a step closer. Her voice is calm and steady now, but her face is still clenched in barely controlled rage. “Do you wish for me to force you to make love to me?” Graham swallows and briefly considers vaulting the balcony railing and hoping for the best. “Because I could do it,” she says, and her voice is husky and deep and barely above a whisper. “Is that what you wish, huntsman?”

 

She is in his space again, her chest nearly pressing against his. If not for the anger in her eyes, he would have thought that she expected him to say yes. He saw something else in her eyes, though. Fear. Vulnerability. Hurt.

 

He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. “No, your majesty,” he whispered.

 

The Queen immediately steps away, and he feels cold air fill the space between them.

 

“Get some sleep, Graham.”

 

She turns away then and walks to the far side of the room, disappearing behind a curtain.

 

Graham walks woodenly to the open door and into the adjoining room. As the door closes on its own, he stands staring back at the heavy curtain hiding the Queen. Left alone, he collapses on the large bed behind him and doesn't think again until morning.

 

 

* * *

 

 

If the Queen lets herself think about what she's done, she doesn't admit it to herself. She sits behind the curtain in her room at a small table and undresses herself slower than usual. Where her clothes are usually gone with a wave of her hand, tonight she needs the methodical actions more than she cares to admit.

 

Playing at being normal salves a portion of her sanity.

 

Snow White had been so close to dead today, she could almost taste it. Her revenge finally enacted. She was very nearly at peace until suddenly she wasn't at all, and the game started anew.

 

She sighed as she peeled her dress from her shoulders, the air cool against her bare skin, and stood to remove her boots and her leather pants, left only in her undergarments as she set her boots aside. The Queen stood that way for several long moments. The air caressed her skin, the chill burning away her anger, leaving only goosebumps in its place until she was calm, her breathing even.

 

 

“ _The Evil Queen doesn't sleep.”_

 

“ _How do you know?”_

 

“ _My pa told me. She doesn't eat neither.”_

 

“ _Everybody eats.”_

 

“ _Not her. Pa says she's a demon.”_

 

_Shrug. “She just looks like a girl to me.”_

 

“ _Nah. She's a demon.”_

 

 

When the chill becomes too much, she moves from behind the curtain and waves her hand in front of her as she walks. Purple smoke surrounds her, and when it dissipates, she's clothed in light trousers and a loose shirt. She sits at her vanity and opens the lid of her simple, wooden jewelry box. She reaches in and pulls the plain, silver ring to her lips and closes her eyes, pressing a kiss to the band. After slipping it onto a finger, she reaches up and methodically removes hair pins and ornaments from her hair. The sections fall in loose curls around her shoulders and down her back. She can't remember the last time she cut it. After the death of King Leopold, she hadn't bothered with it, and it now fell well below her hips. She sat looking into the mirror as she ran her fingers through her hair, untangling any knots and smoothing the unruly strands around her face.

 

 

“ _My ma says she wasn't always evil.”_

 

“ _What changed?”_

 

“ _Ma says she broke her heart.”_

 

“ _Can't break a heart.”_

 

“ _My ma says you can. Says it hurts something awful.”_

 

“ _The Evil Queen doesn't have a heart to break anyway.”_

 

 

With another wave of her hand, her face is clear of her heavy makeup, and she wipes a damp cloth over her skin. The cloth is warm, and she closes her eyes, letting the heat seep into her skin, burning away the day. She tries not to think about Snow White for once. The fight will start again tomorrow, but for tonight, she just wants to sleep.

 

When she finally falls into bed, she turns on her side facing the open balcony, and spins the ring on her finger while she looks out at the stars. Her thoughts slip to the huntsman sleeping a wall away from her, and she recalls the look of horror on his face when his eyes had flicked to her bed. She'd been taken back to a time when she had stood in a chamber very similar to the one she now slept in. Standing in the middle of the room in her night dress, being lead to the bed by her husband, her heart thumping in her chest as she willed herself not to cry.

 

Leopold had not been an unkind man. He was gentle and caring, but she still fought the urge to cringe away whenever he came to her. She was a child, he as old as her own father, and she remembers letting her mind drift to Daniel on that first night that she and Leopold were together. Willing herself to imagine Leopold as Daniel, trying in vain to escape what her life had become.

 

When Leopold had rolled off of her and fallen asleep, she had stayed awake and cried, her silent sobs shaking the bed, until she had exhausted herself enough to drift to sleep, clutching the sheet to her chest. The magic of her wedding night had been stolen from her, and she mourned the loss of it for days. She clutched to the memories of her Daniel, and subconsciously gripped her belly, praying that no child ever came of her union to Leopold.

 

Eventually, realizing her indifference, Leopold had stopped coming to her. As much as she hated the man, she had never been more grateful. He needed no heir, content to let Snow rule his kingdom upon his death, and he was honorable enough to leave Regina to herself, if not honorable enough to have never married her in the first place.

 

She feels a tear slide down her cheek, and she doesn't wipe it away. More follow, and she lets them come, needing them to fall if only to cleanse her mind enough to sleep.

 

The Evil Queen does indeed sleep, despite the schoolyard rumors. Is human, does feel.

 

 

“ _Maybe she just needs someone to love her.”_

 

“ _Who would love the Evil Queen?”_

 

_Shrug. “I dunno.”_

 

 

The Queen's eyes drift closed at last, and she doesn't think again until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this after watching The Heart is a Lonely Hunter during my s.1 rewatch a few days ago. It got me thinking about Regina and her "Take him to my bedchambers." line, and I started to wonder if she really capitalized on having the implied veritable sex slave at her beck and call. Especially given her beginnings in the castle with Leopold. I like to think that the Evil Queen in my head was still human. Did dreadful things, yes, but was still just an aching, lonely woman at the end of the day.
> 
> Ah, well. 1 of 3, maybe? Hopefully at least 3.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patch of dialogue taken from True North, s.1.

When Graham wakes, a large spread of food is laid out on the table in the corner of his room. The smell of warm bread and hot tea draws him out of a fitful sleep, and he is grateful for the reprieve.

 

He throws his legs over the side of the bed and shakes his head. He groans, scrubbing his hand over his face, realizing that the night previous had not been a dream.

 

“Fuck.”

 

Graham doesn't often curse, but this morning seems an appropriate time for it if ever there was one. Down a heart, his dignity, and his freedom, he allows himself a moment of self-pity before sluggishly moving to the breakfast left for him on the table.

 

He sits down heavily in a padded chair and pulls varying selections of meat from a large platter onto the plate in front of him. He eats with his fingers, ignoring the utensils set in a neat line beside his plate, and takes comfort in breaking a rule.

 

Snubbing etiquette. It's sad, but it's all he's got.

 

There's a creaking sound on the other side of his room before the wall shielding him from the Queen's bed chamber swings inward. He stiffens, expecting her to simply walk in, but there's no one on the other side that he can see. Dropping the piece of half-eaten venison in his hand, he snatches his hunting knife from his bedside table and tucks it into his belt. It's not much, and completely ineffectual against the Queen, but it makes him feel a measure of control which he's sure he doesn't actually have.

 

As soon as he steps through, he sucks in a breath. The Queen is standing against the balcony, her back to him. Her hair is down, only a few strands from around her face pinned back behind her head, held in place by a wooden clasp. Her dress sweeps the floor, dark fabric swaying around her bare feet in the gentle breeze from outside.

 

Graham wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. His perception of the Queen is hard. Unyielding. Cold. The woman before him looks no older than thirty years. Soft.

 

“I trust you slept well,” she says. Her voice is calm and relaxed, lacking the rage it held the night before. His only comfort is that he can see the stiff set of her shoulders, reminding him that the creature before him may appear innocent, but she had, in fact, ripped his heart from his chest not a day ago.

 

“I slept,” he says, also reminding himself that he is not a guest. He is a prisoner, and she his captor.

 

The Queen nods her head and turns to face him, leaning her back against the balcony railing.

 

“Regina.”

 

Graham frowns. “I'm sorry?”

 

She smiles. “My name. Regina.”

 

Too pretty, he thinks, still frowning.

 

Regina's arms are folded over her stomach as he continues to stare at her. Her hair flutters in the wind at her back, long dark strands winding their way around her throat and over her shoulders, and Graham finds it distracting.

 

He doesn't say anything more, but he does nod, and she seems to accept the motion. He watches her move from the balcony to the main doors. She tugs one of the doors inward before turning back to him.

 

“You may go anywhere you wish inside the castle,” she says tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “If you leave the castle, restrict yourself to the grounds surrounding it.” The _or there will be consequences_ is understood, and he continues to frown at her.

 

Regina nods again before leaving, and the sound of the door closing echoes inside his head like the sound of doom.

 

* * *

 

Another child dead. Regina turns away and waves her hand at the mirror, willing the image to disappear before the horror started again.

 

She had happened upon the house only ten days ago. Made completely of sweets and cookies and candy, it attracted stray children like a moth to a flame. The magical wards set around it were severe, their only purpose to keep any person over the age of twelve out.

 

The witch who lived in the god-forsaken place had stolen something from Regina. Something precious. While initially, her goal had been to merely retrieve the item, now she had a personal vendetta, and she wouldn't rest until the woman was destroyed. Preferably with as much irony as Regina could _cook up_ as it were.

 

When Regina had finally managed to push passed the magical barriers enough to access a mirror within the witch's sticky little cottage, she had watched in horror as a child had entered, unable to do anything to aid the poor dear when the witch had eventually captured and--

 

Regina closed her eyes and rubbed them with the heals of her palms, trying in vain to snuff out the memory.

 

Six children had entered since then, all with the same fate. Every time left Regina screaming at her mirror and throwing every bit of magic she could muster in an attempt to breach the wards upon the house in order to save those children.

 

She leaned against the chaise in front of her fireplace and calmed her breathing. The air in the castle was heavy even with the open balconies and windows, and she needed to get out.

 

“Janson!” she yelled, and a guard dressed head to toe in black leather entered, bowing at the waist and standing at attention, the butt of his spear resting on the ground at his feet. “Ready my carriage.”

 

Janson bowed again. “Yes, your majesty,” he said and quickly departed.

 

Regina waved her hand. A swirl of purple smoke had her changed for the ride. Black hat with her hair curled at the side, heavy make up, black leather, dark purple dress – her armor.

 

She would ride for the witch's cottage. This madness ended today, she thought, and couldn't help the chuckle that left her lips. The Evil Queen avenging children. No one would believe it.

 

Regina shrugged and continued down to her carriage.

 

* * *

 

When Regina found a boy and a girl wandering the forest so close to the witch's cottage, she panicked, ordering the guards to cease them before they could run. The thought of watching one more child devoured by that monster brought bile rising to the back of her throat, and she willed it down. But then the girl had to be a fighter, and Regina was both irritated and intrigued by the strength in one so young as she watched the girl and her brother run back into the woods.

 

“Drake! Welsh! Post guards at the intersections up ahead and behind. No one gets past until I return, do you understand?” The guards relayed their understanding, and then she was disappearing in a cloud of magic and reappearing before two winded and tiring young children. The chase was always exhilarating. She enjoyed the pursuit, and it showed. The terrifying expressions on their faces fueled her, the intoxicating thrill of being feared almost frightening herself.

 

Almost.

 

The need to protect these children warred with her need to retrieve what was stolen from her, and before she could stop herself, she was spinning a plan that had her pushing these kids into the witch's cottage for her own gains.

 

She had a heart, despite what people speculated, but she also needed to exact her revenge on Snow White. And if she could kill two birds with one stone, then she would do so. Hopefully the strength she had seen in young Gretel's eyes would be enough to save her foolish brother's life in the end, but she couldn't worry about that.

 

She would protect them, she told herself. They were in no real danger, she told herself. She had whispered a spell into the old compass around Gretel's neck before leaving for her carriage and back to the safety of her castle, watching the proceedings from the mirror in her bedroom. The spell allowed her access beyond the wards, and when smart little Gretel had barred the witch inside her own furnace – the deliciousness of the nature of her oncoming demise causing Regina to cackle in vengeful mirth – she let loose a fireball, sending it through the mirror to set the oven ablaze.

 

“Bitch.” Regina smirked and turned her back on the mirror, coming face-to-face with a wide-eyed Graham. She stopped, setting her hands on her hips, daring him to say a word. “Yes, huntsman?”

 

Graham merely scowled, and she could almost hear the murderous thoughts bouncing around inside his tiny little brain.

 

“You killed her,” he said, voice dripping with barely controlled fury.

 

She let out a scoff of a laugh, not offering an explanation, and simply pushed past him. Let him think what he will, she thought. Regina didn't care. When did she ever?

 

Long live the Evil Queen, indeed. The world could burn for all she cared.

 

* * *

 

Graham stood on the other side of a wall to Regina's formal receiving room much later that night listening to a conversation between Regina and a man who's voice he didn't know.

 

“You tell me where they are!” he was yelling, and Graham could hear scuffling, assuming the guards were attempting to control the man.

 

“Gone. I told them you abandoned them. Leaving nothing but a compass to find their way,” Regina responds, and her voice is bitter and accusing. He can almost hear the _you idiot_ at the end of her sentence. “But I didn't bring you here to answer your questions,” she pauses, and he hears her walk towards the man. “You're here to answer mine. I offered your children everything. Whatever their hearts' desired. And they still chose uncertainty because of their blind faith in you.” Her voice is softer now, that vulnerability he's not used to associating with the Evil Queen seeping through. “Tell me why.” She pauses. “Hm? Why did your children refuse me?” Graham holds his breath. Regina's voice is softer still and unsure, and he can almost hear the tears in her eyes.

 

The man's response is a long time coming, but when he speaks, Graham can hear the emotion in his voice when talking about his lost children. “Because we're a family,” he says. “And family always finds one another.”

 

Silence. Graham hears Regina let out a shaky breath. He waits for the worst. He waits for Regina to lash out. Yell. Kill the man, but it doesn't come.

 

Instead, “Release him,” he hears her says. He frowns, confused.

 

“You're letting me go?” the man asks, just as confused, probably having resigned himself to never leaving the castle alive.

 

When Regina speaks again, the sarcasm and bitterness in her voice is almost palpable. “You can all be together,” she says, “as a _family_ ,” mocking him, “as soon as you all find one another.” Her voice is hard and deep, and Graham finds himself sucking in his breath as the man is dragged away, yelling threats and begging for the safety of his children in the same breath. Regina growls in frustration, and before Graham can move, she is stomping down the corridor toward her chambers.

 

He slips from his hiding spot and takes the servants' corridors back to his bedroom.

 

* * *

 

Graham opens the small door back to his quarters and shuts it silently behind him. He immediately walks to the other side of his room to the wall separating his from the Queen's and presses his ear against it.

 

“Something to say, Huntsman?” Her voice is muffled and distant, but he jumps away from the wall at the sound of it. When the wall swings open, he merely glares at the opening.

 

She's pacing, and if he's honest with himself, he doesn't want to set foot into her room at that moment. The air around her is crackling with magic, and he can feel her anger from where he stands.

 

“No, your majesty,” he says, and he turns back to his bed, sitting heavily on the side, resting his forehead in his palm. The door stays open, however, and before he knows what's happening, she's standing before him, hands on her hips, scowl on her face.

 

“Go on,” she says. “Surely your midnight eavesdropping has produced some opinion on my actions. Hm?”

 

His mouth is hanging open, and he curses himself for being at a loss for words.

 

Regina raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to say something. “Well?”

 

“What did you do to his children?” he asks before he can stop himself, the accusation and the implied _you heartless bitch_ coming out clear as day.

 

A brief expression of guilt passes across her face, but it's gone before he can register it properly. She waves her hand dismissively. “They were no longer of use to me. I got what I needed,” she says, and then she starts to pace again, her hands wrapped around her stomach, an old habit.

 

Graham watches her in silence, a scowl on his face. Gone is the woman who stood on the balcony with her hair down around her shoulders, the early morning sun creating a warm halo around her head, replaced by a veritable cornered beast, waiting to pounce. It's unnerving to Graham how one person can feel so many things, but Regina is a well of _feelings_ , and Graham is terrified by how severely she wears them all on her sleeve, as it were.

 

Abruptly, she turns and faces him. “You,” she says forcefully, as if she's just realized something. “You're alone.”

 

Graham sneers. “Thank you, your majesty.”

 

She shakes her head, waving her hand. “No, I mean, you _were_ alone. And yet you were happy. Why?”

 

If this woman wasn't so broken, he tells himself, he would be offended. But all he sees when he looks at Regina now is a damaged, shell of a woman just grasping at vengeance in a last ditch effort to fill a void she doesn't know how to fill. And so he forces his anger down and answers as truthfully as he can. If a little resentment gets past him then so be it. She deserves it.

 

“ _Alone_ is relative, your majesty. We all make our own happiness. Whether it's a crowded room full of people or out in the forest with nothing but the trees and the animals, at the end of the journey, we make our own happy endings. I was never _alone_.” _Not like you are_ , he thinks, but he keeps it to himself. He's beginning to think that she doesn't even know how to love anymore. Maybe she did at one point. There must have been some goodness in her life at one time to make her so full of hate now.

 

At least that stopped her pacing. She was making him dizzy. But now she was silent and staring passed him, and somehow, it was a little more terrifying than the pacing.

 

Graham sighs and hangs his head. Before he can stop his mouth, he's asking, “What do you expect to gain from killing Snow White?” His voice is quiet, and he hates himself for asking the question.

 

Regina snaps her eyes to his and her lips curl upwards in a sneer. No longer thoughtful, all rage, she says, “Snow White is a murderer. And I will see her heart cut from her chest if it is the last thing that I do.” She practically spits the declaration, and before he can respond, she storms from his room, and the wall separating them is slamming closed with a loud bang.

 

Graham sighed and leaned back on his bed. “This woman is fucking insane,” he says to the empty room.

 

“I heard that,” comes a muffled reply.

 

“Good!” he yells back, rolling over and closing his eyes, praying for sleep to take him before he does something drastic.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next few weeks, Graham is left alone to do as he pleases. He has seen Regina only twice in a fortnight, and if he's honest with himself, he'd like to keep it that way. The woman is terrifying. There is no in-between with Regina; she is either incredibly soft, sweet, kind, small, or she is hard, cold, angry. Larger-than-life. A fucking terror.

 

Graham is a pretty level-headed kind of guy. He knows who he is. He knows what he wants out of life. He knows how to live his life, and he has no regrets looming over his head. What he does, he does for a reason. Mistakes just aren't an issue when you're not responsible for anyone but yourself.

 

“ _You're alone,”_ the Queen had said. The truth is, he's never felt alone. No human contact, only the wolves as his companions, but he never felt alone, never felt like he was missing something. He lived in the forest, hunted for his food, aided lost humans who wandered too far, aided the few animals caught in cruel poachers' traps, and then went to sleep under the stars with a warm, soft, comforting wolf's presence tucked in beside him. His drive to interact with humans in society outside of the forest had been more curiosity than a need for companionship with his kind.

 

His life had been decidedly uncomplicated. Until recently, of course.

 

He had initially thought that the castle would be a cage for him. That he would feel trapped, claustrophobic, but so much happened all around him, all of the time, that he didn't feel like he had _time_ to be bored or lonely. Regina was a bloody hurricane of emotion, and when she entered the castle, the entirety of the place was swept up in it. Her staff worked night and day when she was present; however, what caught Graham most off-guard was how willingly they did so.

 

Regina was the embodiment of The Evil Queen when she had “visitors” in her palace. Cold, seductive, hard, unyielding, and, more often than not, deadly. Very few people who were brought in, left. And if they weren't killed by her, they were sent down to the dungeons below the palace, and not seen again until the quelling. Once a month, the current prisoners were all unceremoniously lined up to be executed in the courtyard. Graham had witnessed one since his arrival, and one was enough. So many heads. So much blood.

 

But Regina took great care with her staff. Her Black Knights were all hand-selected by her, and she knew them all by name. Knew their histories, their families, their personalities. They were loyal to a fault, and respected her in a way that belied her viciousness. Her servants seemed well taken care of, as well, hardly the over-worked mess of resentment Graham had been expecting on his first few nights in the castle. The kitchen staff was a group of mostly older ladies and gentlemen who seemed to love their jobs. They were well-fed, their living quarters comfortable, and their families outside of the castle mysteriously taken care of.

 

Graham had overheard the head cook chatting with one of the serving girls about her daughter who was to be married. The match was not the most lucrative for either family, but they were in love, and that was enough, it seemed. The cook's grin took up her entire face, her eyes crinkling with it.

 

“He's a kind one, he is,” he had heard her say. “Works for the blacksmith in town. Hands always filthy,” she laughed, full and deep. “That girl will have her hands full keeping house for him!”

 

The cook and the serving girl shared a laugh, and Graham found himself smiling with them while he sat at the long prep table in the middle of the kitchen.

 

“When's it happenin'?” the girl asked.

 

The older woman lifted a lid on a pot to sample a spoonful of a brown sauce bubbling over the fire. She smacked her lips with the taste and added more salt. After replacing the lid she said, “First snowfall.”

 

With a sigh, the serving girl leaned heavily against the stone wall behind her, her smile wistful. “So romantic.”

 

The cook nodded. “Indeed. And you know?” she asked before glancing around the kitchen. Her gaze stopped on Graham, and her eyes narrowed. Graham pretended not to notice and kept eating the soup in front of him. The older woman turned back, and her voice was lower this time. “Messenger showed up at the house last night,” she said. “Note unsigned, and a box for my girl.”

 

The girl leaned forward. “A box? What was in it?”

 

Graham could see the tears line the old woman's eyes and heard the emotion in her voice. “Gold and silver,” she said finally. “More gold and silver than I've ever seen in one place.” Her voice cracked.

 

Eyes wide, the girl gasped. “Who from?”

 

The old cook shrugged. “The note congratulated my girl on her engagement, but it wasn't signed. Only said, 'May you be happy in every way possible. I hope this will help you along in your journey.'”

 

“Any idea who sent it?”

 

A wry smile from the cook. “You know I've been serving the Mills' house since before Snow White was born,” she said, earning a nod from the girl. “I would know the Queen's handwriting as well as my own child's.”

 

Another gasp from the girl. “The Queen?”

 

The cook nodded. “Indeed.”

 

Graham had suspected, but to hear it confirmed almost had him choking on his soup.

 

He had never been more confused about anything in his life until he met Regina. Her walls came up and down so fast, it almost made him dizzy when she was around.

 

“Pardon me.”

 

Graham started. He resisted the urge to jump to his feet at the sound of the voice, hid his surprise, and looked up into the eyes of an older, well-dressed gentleman he hadn't seen in the castle before. Graham was sitting down on the cold grass, leaning against the only apple tree on the castle grounds, and the man had walked under the shade of the branches, a small smile on his face and a hand extended down to Graham.

 

“My apologies. I did not mean to startle you. My name is Henry.”

 

His voice was soothing, and Graham found himself extending his own hand to grasp the older man's. His grip was firm, and Graham decided that he liked him right then and there, but he wasn't sure why.

 

“Graham,” he said, shaking the man's hand twice before releasing it. “Are you a prisoner here as well?” he asked, but he found the words muddy in his mouth, knowing that this man was definitely not a captive.

 

Henry's smile was warm. He sat down on the bench under the tree, resting his elbows on his knees. “No, Graham. I live here.”

 

Graham arched an eyebrow. “I've been here for nearly a month. Why have I not seen you?”

 

Henry's smile faltered for a breath. “I've been,” he paused, taking a breath before continuing, “I've been away.” His gaze dropped to his boots and he clasped his hands in front of him. “Held captive elsewhere, actually,” he said, and Graham sat up at that. Henry waved his hand dismissively. “But that's behind me. I have seen you walking the grounds this morning, young Graham, but I have yet to have the pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he says with another warm smile.

 

Graham furrows his brow and shakes his head to clear it. “I'm sorry, but have we not met, sir?”

 

Henry's smile only grows. “No, I don't believe we have.”

 

There's something about Henry that rings so familiar to Graham, but he can't quite hold onto what it might be. He finds himself relaxing in his company, though, and a month of tension leaves him in a rough sigh, and he feels himself smiling.

 

 

* * *

 

Of all of the humans Graham had come in contact with over the years, Henry was definitely one of the better ones. Over the next few days, he and Henry walked the grounds together talking of everything and nothing at all. Henry was fascinated by Graham's life in the forest, being raised by wolves, living completely off of the land, and Graham asked questions about nobility and the kingdoms, about how the world worked and why people did what they did.

 

Graham never saw Henry inside the castle walls, and he suspected that the man was of a private sort. Henry was soft spoken and kind. He emanated the kind of warmth that pulled people in. Henry made Graham feel comfortable and accepted.

 

For once, Graham didn't feel trapped. Talking with the older man provided him the answers to so many questions about humans and the world they lived in that he had sought for so long. Henry seemed to Graham a very learned man, but also a man with very little ambition. He was content to sit under the apple tree and talk the day away. Graham saw none of the thirst for power and control that he had witnessed in other humans to date. Henry was a simple man who happened to be born to a noble family.

 

Henry's ambitions centered around contentment and happiness.

 

Graham found he liked the man more and more every day.

 

At the sound of footsteps heading his way, Graham sidestepped into a corridor and flattened his back against the wall. He tended to avoid people when he could, out of habit mostly, and if the muffled click-clack of heels on stone were any indication, the Queen had returned.

 

There had been an uncomfortable hush over the castle all day, and Graham found himself more on edge than usual. A figure passed by him, but he couldn't see their face. Undeniably female, but not wearing the elaborate dress that Regina usually wore, he furrowed his brow and peeked around the corner as the woman passed.

 

A long, dark braid fell down her back. She was wearing form-fitting riding pants, tall black boots, and a black jacket that tapered and fell below her hips. Graham frowned. She definitely looked like Regina, but he had never seen her so casually dressed outside of her chambers.

 

When she rounded a corner, Graham quietly left the corridor to follow her.

 

He caught sight of her profile as she turned another corner, and it was definitely Regina. She moved through the castle at a relaxed but determined pace, and he followed her easily. Graham slid behind a pillar when she moved to a side exit, a doorway leading out to the courtyard, and he moved to follow again. She crossed the courtyard, and Graham suspected that she was headed towards the palace stables. If she took to horseback, he wouldn't be able to follow her then, but he kept on her until she, indeed, ended at the stables.

 

Graham stopped behind a tree close enough in view of the barn where he could see inside but far enough away to stay inconspicuous. He saw Regina wave her hand, say a few words, and the two stable boys, both no older than fourteen years, bowed low and left at a quick walk, passing right by him on their way out.

 

“...today. She looks so sad,” he heard one of the boys say.

 

“She's always sad today,” the other boy whispered back, and he could hear the sympathy in the boy's voice.

 

Graham watched Regina move to one of the stalls, and a large chestnut head greeted her with a soft whinny. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the horse and whispered words that Graham couldn't hear, but a smile bloomed on her face the more she spoke. The horse gently nudged her, lifting her head briefly from his, and she placed a firm kiss on his muzzle when he lifted it to her. She laughed, and the horse nudged her shoulder a few times. With a flick of her wrist, a bright orange carrot appeared in her hand after a light violet cloud of magic had blown away in the wind. Regina broke the carrot in half and offered the larger half on her flat palm to the horse. He took it eagerly and nodded his head while he ate, pulling a laugh from Regina, the kind that Graham had never heard from her before. A laugh that said happiness, kindness, innocence, and _I am content with the world_.

 

Quiet words continued to flow from her, and Graham stood leaning heavily against the tree in front of him, fully entranced by the sight. The sun was setting behind the stables, and light was shining directly behind her, creating a dark silhouette of her body, still leaning into the horse, against the deep orange of the fading light. For several seconds, Regina and her horse were nothing more than black shapes while shades of yellow and red swept over them, down the aisle, and spilled out of the front entrance onto the dying grass of early winter.

 

Graham reached up and felt his cheeks damp with tears he didn't know had even fallen.

 

 

* * *

 

“His name was Daniel.”

 

Graham sat with his back propped up against the trunk of the apple tree, per usual, while Henry sat on the bench just to his left with a book on his lap. The day was cold and crisp, but the sun was out in full so the chill was bearable.

 

Graham had become fond of the slight accent to Henry's voice. It was calming in a way that he didn't understand.

 

“Who?” Graham asked, unaware of the context of Henry's statement.

 

“I saw you watching the Queen at the stables yesterday evening.”

 

Graham closed his eyes at the memory and leaned his head back against the bark of the tree. “Oh,” was all he said.

 

So that was it, he thought. The Queen had lost someone. The eery quiet that had settled so heavy on the palace yesterday now made more sense. He had watched as servants tip-toed and sneaked quietly in and out of rooms all evening. He had listened to the sound of quiet tears and muffled sobs coming from the other side of his wall while he laid in his bed last night. It was the first time that he had thought of actually going to the Queen. To offer comfort. But he hadn't moved, unable to shake the feeling that it wasn't his place to do so.

 

“Love?”

 

He saw Henry nod. “Of the truest sort.”

 

* * *

 

Graham and Henry sat in comfortable silence for the next few hours. Henry reading the book open on his lap and Graham whittling away at a piece of wood he had been carving on since that morning. The sun was starting to shine below the branches of the tree, and Graham could feel the distant heat on his feet.

 

“Daddy?”

 

Graham's hands froze at his work at the sound of the Queen's voice. He saw Henry's small smile out of the corner of his eye.

 

“I'm here, sweetheart,” Henry called, and Graham nearly dropped the knife in his hand.

 

When Regina came around the low bushes marking the entrance to the garden, the softness of her face instantly hardened when she saw Graham, and she stopped short of the apple tree. Graham met her eyes, and his breathing quickened at the look on her face.

 

Fuck.

 

Henry saved them both. Ignoring the rising tension in the air, he patted the space beside him on the bench. “Come. Sit with me.”

 

Regina hesitated for only a moment before slowly walking over towards the bench to stand beside her father – her _father,_ Graham thought - but she didn't sit. Graham saw her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides, and he held his breath.

 

“Your majesty,” he said, and it took all he had to keep his voice steady. He knew he had intruded on a private moment, regardless of the fact that it wasn't his fault.

 

Regina's jaw hardened. “Huntsman.”

 

Henry gently reached out and covered one of Regina's hands in both of his. “ _Mi amor_ ,” he hears Henry say, but Graham can't pull his eyes away from Regina. He sees so many things in those brown eyes of hers. Her face is still tense, the sneer barely contained, but her eyes say _he's mine_ and _he's safe_ and _intruder_. “Come,” Henry says again, giving her hand a gentle tug. “Sit with me.”

 

Regina finally relaxes her hand into her father's grip, and she breaks eye contact with Graham, turning to face Henry. Graham can see the excuse on her lips before she even says it, knowing she'll run. He clears his throat and stands, tucking his knife into his belt and the little wooden figure into the inside pocket of his coat. Regina's eyes snap to his, and the fire in them takes his breath.

 

Graham bows. “My pardon, your majesty. I must return to the palace.” And with that, he turns and walks past the two of them, feeling Regina's eyes burning holes through the coat on his back as he walks away.

 

He can only hear muffled conversation as he leaves the garden to return to the palace.

 

 

* * *

 

Ever since the day Graham felt his heart ripped from him, he has felt a dull ache in his chest that never really dissipates. He wonders about how much he can actually feel without his heart. He wonders if maybe it's _just magic_. Maybe the heart is more symbolic than literal. Maybe the glowing organ he watched Regina squeeze in her fist was just a physical manifestation of a curse, a control over him, not his physical heart. Graham places his hand over the left side of his chest often and can still feel a dull beat under his hand, but he also feels that emptiness surrounding it.

 

He takes the long way back to his chambers by way of the kitchens and is surprised to see Regina sitting in the arm chair in front of his fireplace when he walks in. Her face is softened by the light from the fire, and her shoulders are relaxed, but Graham still enters hesitantly. He drops the food he had grabbed for dinner on the small table by his back door and hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his pants.

 

“I see you've met my father,” she says, so soft he can barely hear it over the crackling of the fire.

 

Graham doesn't answer.

 

Regina turns her head to look at him and raises her eyebrows. When he doesn't answer her, she turns her eyes back to the fire and then stands, brushing imaginary wrinkles from the form-fitting skirt of her dress. “I should like you to stay in my chambers tonight, huntsman.” She says the words firmly. It's not a question.

 

Graham pales. “What?” he manages.

 

She waves her hand and the wall to her room swings inward. “Finish your food first if you must.”

 

And then she walks through the doorway, the wall swinging closed behind her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending the chapter here because it was getting too long. And I'm tired. ^^
> 
> Honestly not sure where I'm going with this. So we'll see what happens. This is really just an excuse for me to write again. And the fact that Graham and Regina keep screaming in my brain.


End file.
